


It Wasn’t Much

by petreparkour



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Adorable Peter Parker, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Insecure Tony, Iron Dad, Kid Peter Parker, Nightmares, POV Tony Stark, PURELY PLATONIC, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), RIP, STARKERS GET AWAY, Sea Monsters, Spider-son, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, i dont know where i got this from, i just tagged this like five months after posting, its weird, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 16:04:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18253196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petreparkour/pseuds/petreparkour
Summary: The first time that Tony got one of the kid’s voicemails, he almost called back in the middle of a Board of Directors’ meeting before realizing that, logically, that was not something he could do.The suit’s AI, Karen, sent him a daily report of Peter’s comings-and-goings. Tony read them unfailingly for a month before FRIDAY oh-so-gently reminded him that he could, in fact, talk to a certain protege with a serious case of hero-worship. Or, as she put it, “Boss, Peter Parker is going to start to overload my systems if you don’t do something about these reports.”Tony wasn’t ignoring him onpurpose. The cursor just kept blinking, on and off, on a blank email to one Peter Parker. Tony managed to think of twenty-four variations ofhey kidbefore deleting the draft and tearing into the Iron Spider armor with a newfound rigor.





	It Wasn’t Much

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buckychulo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckychulo/gifts).



> Not mine. Marvel’s. Beta’d by SeetheSea and prompted by buckychulo. 
> 
> Prompt: So you know how like all irondad fics are after Homecoming and Tony is super close with Peter? Can you make one where it’s the opposite. Where tony tracks Peter and ALWAYS watches the spider suit shit and like always listens to his reports but is too scared to be a part of his life. But then finally starts to be his father figure? And it’s like slow burn?
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY BUCKYCHULO AND IM SORRY THIS IS SO LATE

The first time that Tony got one of the kid’s voicemails, he almost called back in the middle of a Board of Directors’ meeting before realizing that, logically, that was not something he could do. Pepper shot him one of her Looks and he shoved the thought firmly away.

 

The suit’s AI, Karen, sent him a daily report of Peter’s comings-and-goings. Tony read them unfailingly for a month before FRIDAY oh-so-gently reminded him that he could, in fact, talk to the certain protegé with a serious case of hero-worship. Or, as she put it, “ _Boss, Peter Parker is going to start to overload my systems if you don’t do something about these reports.”_  Tony had threatened to scrub her code and she tittered on the speakers in the way that Tony knew that she was laughing.

 

Tony wasn’t ignoring him on _purpose._ The cursor just kept blinking, on and off, on a blank email to one Peter Parker. Tony managed to think of twenty-four variations of _hey kid_ before deleting the draft and tearing into the Iron Spider armor with a newfound rigor.

 

After three days, Pepper forced him to bed and he finally fell asleep for nearly four hours. He woke with a start, the stars still pinning him in place, an alien face hovering over him, purple and gruesome and smiling and whispering _“we will be the same, in the end.”_

 

He slipped out of the bed and coolly told FRIDAY where to shove it when she informed him that he shouldn’t be up for another eight hours. The cursor in the blank email blinked, and _blinked, and blinked, and blinked, and_ to hell with it, the Iron Spider legs could be a little more intuitive, maybe to reach out and snag an edge if there was nothing else for the kid to catch himself on.

 

The first time that FRIDAY notified him that Peter’s suit had detected a puncture, it was a fluke. A broken gutter caught the fingers of the suit, but Peter was so stuck to it that the fabric tore.

 

That fact didn’t stop the explosion of anxiety that formed in his chest and spread all the way to his toes after FRIDAY pinged him. He sunk to his knees under the table, fingers fisted in his hair, his chest heaving desperately as he tried to get just _one-goddamn-breath-in._

 

FRIDAY started repeating the date and the time and the weather over and over, just like JARVIS used to do, but Tony lost track of the time and just couldn’t draw in a breath.

 

FRIDAY stopped, and a new voice started playing in the speakers. “ _Hey, Mr. Stark,”_ The recording said, and Tony froze. “ _I know you’re, like, really busy right now because you’re an Avenger and, like, Stark Industries and stuff. Just wanted to check in with you. The funniest thing happened today, actually—I was just swinging along, and I grabbed this drainage gutter because I wanted to see if that cliché about how they always break off when people are hanging from them is true, and anyway I almost popped my shoulder out of my socket because the suit stuck too much to it! I think it was so stuck to me that it like, ripped the fingers. I thought that was kinda funny…. Oh. I wasn’t, like, criticising your suit, Mr. Stark, because it’s great! I was just rambling. I won’t keep you too long, sir, but uh…. Never mind.”_

 

“He’s fine, boss,” FRIDAY said softly. Tony managed to release his fingers from his hair and filled his lungs with a much-needed breath.

 

After, Tony berated himself for the mistake, because the grip of Peter’s fingers had totally thrown off the elasticity of the material and frozen its general integrity so it became nearly as unyielding as steel. He reworked the entire suit and didn’t sleep for seventy-six hours.

 

It turned out that Peter had sewn up the fingertips of the suit by the time Tony had the new one ready. He came as close to inviting the kid to the Tower as typing out a full text and watching the cursor blink, blink, blink on the completed text. The _send_ button stared at him, taunting and mocking, and Tony threw the phone across the room. He told Happy to bring the new suit over to Queens when he was in the area and dug his fingernails into his scalp. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

 

There was news of other punctures after, but none sent Tony into the panic that he had been flung into the first time. They were all minor: mostly broken beer bottles and unfortunate rusty wire that tore at the thinner material of the hands. Tony had reworked the material at least a half-dozen times, but something always managed to get through.

 

One time, it was a bullet graze. Tony was halfway into the suit to go rescue Peter when Karen informed FRIDAY who informed Tony that the missed shot had ripped a hole in the suit and missed Peter’s skin. “The refraction technology you built into the alloy deflected the bullet. It caught a weakness in the suit and tore it, but no damage done.”

  
  
“Tell Happy to drop off the new suit tomorrow morning,” Tony said, and got to work. It was going to be a long night, but Tony didn’t care.

 

The Avengers were practically nonexistent now. This created more problems than anticipated.

 

Rhodey was, at best, a part-time Avenger. He manned the War Machine armor bravely, but he had barely gotten a hang of the leg braces that Tony had designed and he knew how much Rhodey hurt some days. The guilt hadn’t stopped for Tony yet, either. 

 

Vision was as spacey as an artificially intelligent robot could be, which Tony found slightly ironic. The guy’s crush on Wanda hadn’t lessened, and Tony was pretty sure that the witch felt the same way. He spent most of his days either moping around the Compound or sneaking out of the country. Tony didn’t say anything about it. He couldn’t have the last full-time Avenger defecting to the other side _too_ quickly.

 

Iron Man, was, again, a fan-favorite. The public had no context for what had happened between the original Avengers besides that some had opposed government control and others had welcomed it. And since Tony Stark, former war profiteer and current superhero, had supported the Accords after his blatant scorn towards Congress and the President, the the entire world was falling over itself to praise Iron Man and his new Avengers Initiative.

 

Tony held off on calling Peter for help as long as he possibly could. The kid might have been enhanced, but he was by no means battle-ready. But one stormy day, when Rhodey was off at an Australian military base and Vision was MIA, mutated sea-monsters crawled out of the East River. Tony nearly rang the Avengers alarm before he realized there were no more Avengers to hear it.

 

This was the turning point. Tony just didn’t know it yet.

 

Iron Man flew down First Avenue, and bystanders cheered and waved at him. The classic angry pedestrian tried to throw a beer bottle at him with a jeer, but he blasted it out of the sky and flew on.

 

As he hovered over the polluted river, he could see that the monsters were slimy and covered in a film of algae or whatever floated at the bottom of a New York City river. Their lower body resembled a crab’s: legs designed for scuttling sideways and even an armored claw to snap at things. But their necks elongated to a long arch, and the crab-like shell shifted to slimy scales. Beady eyes stared straight through Tony’s armor in a face that resembled a seahorse’s.

 

“That,” Tony declared to himself (he didn’t dwell on his lack of support anymore. He did fine alone. He didn’t miss the chorus of voices telling him off or encouraging him whenever he said something not strictly related to the mission. Of course not), “Is disgusting.”

 

The crab legs dug into the bank of the river, cracking the concrete reinforcement, and the mutants climbed up until they were lined up along the riverbank. Joggers dressed in exercise clothes and other passerby backed up to the chain-link fences keeping them from entering a construction site. They eyed the creatures uneasily as they curled into a semicircle around the group.

 

“FRIDAY, give me readings,” Tony snapped. He didn’t want to get too close, just in case his repulsed set the creatures off. Who knew what types of exposure the creatures had had to things like him. “Quiet down the stabilizers as much as possible. Don’t spook them.”

 

One of them towards the middle let out a high-pitched gurgle that would have sounded ridiculous if not for its sheer volume. An alert popped up about the range of sounds that were damaging to human ears, and Tony was suddenly grateful for the soundproofing of the suit. The bystanders screamed and collapsed to their knees, covering their ears. Tony shot forward as five of the creatures screeched and dove towards the fallen pedestrians.

 

A blur of red swung in from the north just as Tony collided forcefully with the mutants. Spider-Man swept straight through the horde and grabbed a little girl who was cornered by one of the demons. Tony had time to bark out, “Parker!” before he scooped up three of the monsters and flung them back into the river. Strangely enough, the rest of the creatures keeping the civilians hemmed in stayed still, occasionally screeching out encouragement or _something._

 

FRIDAY tracked Peter’s distant figure with a red outline as he set the little girl down on a rooftop and shot another web in the direction of the Williamsburg Bridge, presumably to gain momentum to come charging back in like the reckless moron he was. Tony felt a knot of anxiety tie itself in his stomach as he extended his hands and blasted the last two furious mutants in their chests, sending them flying into the river. Water sprayed everywhere, and they didn’t resurface.

 

The same leader as before stomped its six feet in frustration. All of the attacking mutants taken care of,  Tony hovered over the river, his repulsors sending the water rippling away from the spot where he flew. FRIDAY’s tracker informed him that Peter was incoming again, probably preparing to sweep in and snatch up another bystander, but Tony activated his comm link and insisted shrilly, “Kid, _stand down,_ don’t get too close, Parker, _Peter—”_

 

The kid faltered in his stride and caught himself with one hand on an AC unit a few hundred yards away. He held up his free arm in a _What?_ gesture, and Tony raised a hand in a placating gesture. “Just wait a minute.”

  
  
Carefully, ever so carefully, Tony steered forwards until he was in the leader’s line of sight. This one was bigger than the others, he noticed, and had more frills on its head. It bared its teeth at him and snarled in barely restrained fury, but it didn’t attack.

 

When Tony set down between the civilians and the mutants, the concrete cracked. Some of the mutants twitched, their crab claw snapping irritably, but they stayed still.

 

“Hi, Mr. Seahorse-Crab monster,” Tony said cheerfully. “I’m not really sure where you came from, but I would _love_ if you would just go back into our terribly polluted river. So sorry about that, by the way, our ancestors had this great and effective habit of throwing our trash into it—”

 

“Uh, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked uncertainly. Tony heard the unmistakable _thwip_ of his webshooters firing and repressed another wave of anxiety. The kid would be _fine._

 

“—anyway, I don’t really think these people did anything to you, so unless they’re here as your occult sacrifices to your giant mutant overlord, what with your circling motif and all, I really think they’d love to go on with their day.”

 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter insisted. “I think you might be right—look out!”

 

The leader roared a challenge just as the East River began to bubble and foam, and a huge head emerged from the water. There was trash caught in its scales and a film of disgusting algae over its entire body, but the gigantic seahorse-crab mutant opened its mouth and screamed.

 

And Peter, halfway over the river, clapped his hands over his ears and slipped off of his web, sending him plunging a hundred feet towards the East River and the giant sea creature below.

 

\---

 

The screaming hadn’t stopped when Tony lunged.

 

FRIDAY launched miniaturized missiles towards the foundation of the barbed wire fence, sending it toppling backwards and allowing the people to scramble away, yelling at the top of their lungs. Sirens had begun to wail a few blocks away, and Tony would have laughed at the speed, or lack thereof, of the first responders.

 

Would have, because Peter was. still. falling.

 

His breath wheezed in his lungs, and time slowed down as the red Spider-suit was replaced by War Machine, smoke trailing from the compromised power source, replaced by Pepper, reaching for him and falling down into the fire, and

 

he

 

was

 

falling

 

and

 

Tony

 

was

 

just

 

watching

 

FRIDAY closed the suit’s hand around Peter’s wrist as the screeching died out, and the repulsors activated sharply as the giant seahorse attempted to snap its claw shut around both of them. Tony could hear Peter’s ragged breathing through both the comm and from right next to him, and he took a deep breath.

 

“Thanks, FRI,” He breathed. The AI beeped an affirmative and gave Tony control of the suit back. He veered to the side, searching for a safe place to set the kid down.

 

The seahorse-crab-monster, apparently displeased that its bright and shiny prey had escaped it, pulled itself further out of the water. Two massive crab legs swept up and planted themselves onto the riverbank. Foamy water sprayed into the air like a geyser, drenching the suit and Peter. The concrete cracked and split, and as the monster used its new leverage to pull itself up, it crumbled further and started spilling into the river.

 

The mini-mutants scuttled backwards over the barbed wire fence. One got its leg caught and tumbled over, and as soon as it hit the ground, the rest of them pounced on it like piranhas in a feeding frenzy. When the creatures stepped away a few moments later, all that was left was a husk of a crab shell.

 

Tony paused over a children’s jungle gym when Peter started to struggle in his grasp, wriggling about and insisting, “Mr. Stark, put me down!”

 

Tony lowered until Peter’s toes were brushing the monkey bars, then let go of his wrist. Peter caught the bars with his legs and stared up at Tony, upside-down, the lenses of his mask narrowed in irritation.

 

“Stay. Here.” Tony ordered, trying to ignore his trembling fingers. Too close. That had been too close.

 

The dozen remaining mutants bent low to the ground before their giant counterpart, pressing their crab claws behind their backs and dipping their heads to their chests. Tony observed this weird subservient behavior for about .3 seconds before twitching his shoulders and sending a set of penetrating missiles shooting at the monster’s head.

 

He could see the police cars’ lights flashing, see the mini-mutants dive back into the river, and he could also see Spider-Man swinging over to them, waving his arms, insisting that they _get back now!_ Tony would have yelled at him if he weren’t busy dodging giant crab legs. The Godzilla-Crab swung another claw at him, and Tony narrowly deactivated his repulsors and went into a free fall as the monster’s limb snapped shut in the place where he had just been.

 

“Hey, Mr. Stark?” A voice said into his ear, and Tony nearly forgot to reactivate his flight stabilizers before he hit the water.

 

“Jesus, kid,” He breathed out, aiming a laser blast at the flailing creature that severed the tip of one of its legs. It screeched in pain, and Tony allowed himself a sigh of relief. If they could drive it back enough because it just wasn’t accustomed to pain, they could just push it back to the juncture of the East and Hudson Rivers and away from the city.

 

“You ever read that kid series _Percy Jackson?”_ Peter asked, and Tony almost went into a barrel roll because he tried to facepalm.

 

“Did I ever— _what?”_

 

“There was this scene in one of the books where he fights this big crab,” Peter continued undauntedly, attaching a web to the end of the monster’s snapping claw and doing loop-de-loops around it, forcing it closed. “And he says there’s, like, a chink in its armor, you know? Right in its belly.”

 

“Why is it always pop-culture references with you?” Tony deadpanned, but his heart wasn’t in it. “You want to blow up the giant crab-monster through its _stomach_ because of something you saw in a _kids’ book?”_

 

“Do you—would that work?”

 

Tony felt a pang of affection for this awkward, bumbling, genius sixteen-year-old, and prayed that it would. If it didn’t, this kid just might give him a record amount of panic attacks in one mission, because, knowing him, he’d throw himself headfirst into the thing’s _mouth_ if that meant it would kill it.

 

“Worth a shot. Hey, ugly!”

 

Tony shot a few repulsor blasts at the monster’s flank, in the grooves between the plating of its shell. It screeched in fury and tried to turn as he swept by, but the water hindered it. It flailed his head back and forth, trying to locate him, but he was carefully hovering right behind its head. The rippling muscle under the seahorse scales was almost mesmerizing, even with the bits of trash caught in the plating.

 

“Peter, try to keep it distracted,” Tony said, hating every word, and he plunged beneath the surface.

 

Even though he’d been in the New York City rivers before—hazards of the job—, they never ceased to disgust Tony. The water was brown and murky, and even though the quality was exponentially better than it had been when he was a kid, there was still a layer of trash lining the bottom. The East River’s current was significantly stronger than the Hudson’s, which just made for a bumpier ride than usual. And the crab’s flailing legs had stirred up filthy silt and old junk, so Tony could barely even see the crab with the amount of debris in his path.

 

“Scans, FRI,” Tony said. “Is the kid right?” He could hear the faint screeching still, the sound distorted by the water, and then Tony’s heart nearly leaped out of his chest as he came face-to-face with a group of five of the mutants.

 

They dove for him, but they scuttled along the ground and Tony had plenty of time to get out of the way and above them. His missile detonated right in their faces, and three of them exploded on the spot. The other two screeched, audible even through the water, and swam away.

 

Tony turned to go towards the giant mutant, but all he saw was a giant crab leg sweeping right at his face before his world went sideways.

 

Stars burst in his vision as he flew backwards through the water, and his ribs ached as his back slammed into the side of the bank. Tony didn’t think the thing had noticed him; it was too caught up with whatever was happening on the surface, but dear _God_ those legs packed a punch.

 

“Scans complete,” FRIDAY announced. “Parker was right, there is a gap in the armor right at center mass. You’re going to have to get close to do it, and it might take a moment for it to impact the central nervous system. You’ll have to get out fast.”

 

“Easy peasy,” Tony tried, but it sounded weak even to his ears.

 

“Sure, boss,” FRIDAY said indulgently, and highlighted the place where Tony had to hit it. He raised his arm and steadied it, then fired.

 

Good news: it was right on target. Bad news: there was an ear-splitting shriek and suddenly a crab claw was gunning right for him. The joints of the suit vibrated as the seahorse-thing continued to scream, and Tony reacted too late. The claw grabbed him around the waist, pulled him in a foaming mess up to the surface, and brought him face-to-face with one giant, toxic-green eye.

 

Its pupil shrank to a pinprick, and it screeched in his face, giving him a great view of the pink tissue in its throat. Then, instead of trying to eat him like Tony had anticipated, it began to squeeze.

 

Frantic warnings began popping up on the HUD. FRIDAY highlighted where the plating had started to cave in, and Tony started to desperately pull at the claw. “Come on, crabby, can’t we talk this out?”

 

It didn’t seem to be in the mood to do anything of the sort. He felt the suit start to compress his ribs uncomfortably, then there was something tugging him straight downwards, and with a terrible tearing sound, he was freefalling.

 

“Power diversion system seriously compromised,” FRIDAY said, her voice stuttering and cutting out as he tried to activate his flight stabilizers, only for them to sputter erratically. “Attempting to c—c—compensate.”

 

Tony glanced downwards to gauge how much height he had before he’d hit the water, and was instead greeted by the sight of a red-suited teenager clinging to his waist. “What the—” was all he managed, because Peter was yelling _Hang on Mr. Stark!_ and shooting a web over to one of the struts of the Williamsburg Bridge. There was the sickening feeling of falling, and then they were caught on a pendulum and gradually started to ascend. Peter whooped with a mixture of effort and exhilaration as Tony’s gut tied itself into a knot, because the bridge was approaching _very fast,_  but they just barely cleared the edge. Tony had just enough motor control left in the suit to twist so he was on the bottom as they hit the concrete.

 

Car horns honked and the pavement made an awful grinding noise as the armor skidded across the bridge. “Flight systems reengaged,” FRIDAY announced, and forced the boot thrusters to fire and stop their wild ride.

 

Tony stared up at the sky for a moment, gut roiling, before he unceremoniously shoved Peter off his chest and onto the sidewalk next to him.

 

Beyond the bridge, the monster staggered once, twice, and collapsed beneath the waves. Tony groaned inwardly at the thought of cleaning _that_ up.

 

The kid hopped up, obviously high on adrenaline despite the mask covering his face. “That was awesome!” He crowed. Tony tried to force the suit into a sitting position, but the joints didn’t move an inch, and Peter continued, “Mr. Stark, we were such a good team! I distracted it and you attacked it from below—uh, are you okay, sir?”

 

Tony took a deep, steadying breath, and then, softly, he said, “FRIDAY, get me up.”

 

“Abdominal region of the suit is extremely compromised,” FRIDAY protested. “I’m detecting several cracked ribs. I find it extremely unadvisable to attempt to move while still wearing the suit.”

 

“Then get it off!”

 

The suit’s plates slowly began to contract and peel away, and Tony flexed his fingers as the arms, legs, and shoulders fell away. But the rib plating grinded and scraped and didn’t come off. Tony shoved the helmet off and asked, “Kid, you mind?”

 

Peter just stared at him, his goggles blown to max size. “Huh?”

 

Tony wordlessly pointed to the stuck plating. “But I’ll break it,” The kid protested as pedestrians started getting out of their cars to gawk at the superhero duo in a crater on the Williamsburg Bridge. “Like, literally, it’ll break in half.”

 

“It’s getting scrapped anyway,” Tony said dismissively. “Get to it before the paparazzi gets here.”

 

Peter dug his fingers under the edges of the plating and pulled it away with a horrible screech of metal. “FRI, cleanup,” Tony said, using an elbow to prop himself up. The boot and hand thrusters activated, and the gloves picked up the rest of the broken armor and carried it away. He pushed himself up into a setting position and gritted his teeth as his ribs screamed.

 

A red hand shoved its way into his face, and Tony stared blankly at Peter’s extended fingers for a solid count of five, which he would have found embarrassing if not for the fact that he had just fought a crab-seahorse mutant fresh out of the East River.

 

Peter wiggled his fingers. When Tony still didn’t get the message, he hummed nervously and asked, “Do you need—uh, a hand?”

 

Tony stared at the kid for one more second, and wondered why he’d been so scared to contact him before. This kid was obviously just as apprehensive as he was.

 

“We did make a good team,” Tony agreed, remembering Peter’s earlier throwaway comment.

 

Tony accepted the hand (and the future, but Peter didn’t need to know that yet).

 

\---

 

Still, it was FRIDAY who made them both go back to the workshop together. Tony was still trying to work up the courage to do so when another Iron Man suit touched down, encased Tony with no warning at all, and then took off towards the Tower with Peter’s wrist locked firmly in place in the gauntlet. Tony barely bothered to argue with her, and throughout the flight, Peter kept asking, rather shrilly, what was happening.

 

When they finally touched down on the Tower’s landing pad, the armor blessedly collapsed into the storage paneling in the floor. Peter hopped up from where he’d been deposited and eyed Tony warily. “Uh, Mr. Stark, if this is gonna turn into another epic lecture, I have a ton of homework to do—”

 

Tony waved a hand airily and turned to go inside. “No lectures. Sorry about that, by the way. The AI that I designed specifically to listen to me… never listens to me.”

 

“It would be my honor to perform another coding check,” FRIDAY put in dryly.

 

“The sass!” Tony exclaimed, pointing at the nearest camera. “I didn't program that, either.”

 

He reached the doors and frowned, realizing that his usually-chatty and hyperactive sidekick wasn’t following him. He turned around, and Peter was still standing where Tony had left him, looking unusually cowed.

 

“What are you still doing there?” Tony asked briskly.

 

“Oh, uh, sorry, Mr. Stark, I’ll just go—”

 

Tony’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What? Oh, you have homework, right—sorry, kid, I didn’t, uh, mean to—”

 

The sting of rejection was something that Tony had experienced far too many times in recent years. It still wasn’t something he’d gotten used to. And it definitely wasn’t something he’d expected from Peter. He should have, though, _of course,_ what kind of sane person would want to stick around with him? Jesus, he had _grossly_ misinterpreted this situation.

 

“Um, Mr. Stark… I thought you wanted me to leave?”

 

Tony blinked and reminded himself _again_ that this kid was probably just as awkward around Tony as Tony was around him. He sighed, opened the doors, and called, “Get in here, kid.”

 

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

 

Peter helped Tony wrap his ribs and then, against FRIDAY’s advice and to her chagrin, they spent a few hours in the lab.

 

Peter was absolutely moon-faced the entire time. _Mr.-Stark-what’s-this_ and _Mr.-Stark-what’s-that!_ He stared at the prototype Iron Man suits, dawned over DUM-E, and had an animated conversation with FRIDAY that lasted for a solid twenty minutes while Tony dug up prototype webshooters from old files.

 

The holo-imaging software was another thing that Peter found endlessly fascinating. He spent at least ten minutes marveling over its sensitivity and manipulating the image in any way he could before he finally looked at the webshooter components themselves.

 

And Tony had to admit, he had fun.

 

It had been a while since had fully, truly enjoyed himself in the workshop. There were too many old memories of former friends hanging out down there while Tony worked, playing with the bots or tossing a ball against the wall. Without the Avengers to create for, he hadn’t seen much of a point in creating at all.

 

Peter turned that perspective on its head. And Tony was glad that he did.

 

He was curious, good with the bots, adorable, and not to mention _smart._ He quickly caught on to the changes that Tony had made to his tech and, although he was slower to critique it, Tony was pretty sure it was because the kid thought he was at risk of offending him. But after Tony grabbed a piece of the schematic put, asked Peter what he thought of it, and crumpled it up and tossed it into the trash once Peter hesitantly voiced his opinion, Peter lost most of his timidness.

 

Bent over a soldering iron, Tony almost managed to keep his voice casual as he said, “It’s nice to have a lab partner again, kid.”

 

He didn’t even burn his fingers too badly after Peter replied in a squeaky voice, “You’re the best lab partner, Mr. Stark.” and his fingers jerked in surprise. Not even Bruce had been that straightforward with his words while working with Tony. Something tightened in his chest, but another, newer knot loosened in response.

 

They kept up a friendly banter after that. Tony poked fun at Peter’s high-schooler tendencies; Peter countered with a jab about Tony’s never-changing facial hair, then promptly looked stricken until Tony burst out laughing and dropped the screwdriver he was holding.

 

The questions only increased in frequency. Questions about the “Ex-vengers,” about Rhodey’s leg braces, Vision’s programming, the Iron Man suit, its power source, but also things that Tony wouldn’t have expected him to know. Specific engineering questions unrelated to the Iron Man suit at all: thermodynamics, wireless electrical current, tensile strength of different materials in suspension bridges. Peter was _smart,_ Tony realized. And not just book smart; he had a natural inquisitiveness that made him want to learn about as much as possible, and a big enough brain to retain all that information.

 

So as their conversation went on, Tony started using bigger and bigger words, more specific language and terms that no normal person would know. And except for a few missed phrases, Peter kept up just fine. Tony worked harder and harder to keep the huge smile off his face, and an inexplicable burst of pride blossomed in his chest.

 

Three hours of this saw Pepper shooing them out of the workshop and a whole new Spider-Man suit being fabricated in the units below the lab. Peter admitted he had to go, and Pepper, who knew Tony too well, said, eyes twinkling, “Same time next week, Mr. Parker?”

 

Peter stuttered out some form of an affirmative and leaped out the window into the twilight. Tony didn’t feel much more confident than him, and he was pretty sure his cheeks had nearly caught on fire.

 

Yes, that battle was most certainly the turning point. So Tony guessed he had the seahorse-crab giant mutant to thank. It was a bit like ripping off a Band-Aid, he supposed. That initial interaction of them as equals instead of master and apprentice had broken the ice for good.

 

And Tony was better for it.

 

There was no turning back after that. No taking back what kind of mentor-ish relationship that was starting to develop. And finally, the idea of being a mentor, maybe even a father figure, to this awkward, bumbling, genius, _amazing_ kid didn’t tie his gut into knots.

 

So the next day, when Peter called with the mission report for the day, Tony picked up the phone.

 

No turning back.

  


 

(And when the Guardians of the Galaxy started fading on the wind and Peter turned to him, eyes desperate and searching, Tony stared back at him and all he wanted to do was scream.)

 

(He didn’t, though.)

 

(He whispered reassurances as they clutched each other, one dripping blood and the other dust; he promised that it would be all right, that Peter wouldn’t have to go anywhere.)

 

(So when his awkward, bumbling, genius, amazing kid turned to dust in his arms, Tony clutched his ashes and he _screamed_.)

**Author's Note:**

> subs: if you check the notes of this on march 27/28, i will put up information about my posting if you still care. :)
> 
> [hides behind fingers] im sorry i disappeared ?
> 
> Thanks for reading! Don’t forget to drop a kudos or a comment!!


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